


How Does Your Garden Grow

by ReaperWriter



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Captain Swan Big Bang, Dogs, F/M, Florist AU, PTSD, Recovery, horticulturist au, no magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 23:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7865782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReaperWriter/pseuds/ReaperWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance meeting with Mary Margaret Nolan in a juvenile detention floral design class sets Emma Swan on the path to being a florist. A rehabilitation program for disabled veterans gives Killian Jones his start in horticulture. Neither one ever imagined picking those paths, but they'll lead to each other. But can they keep the harder aspects of life from tearing them apart? (Modern AU- Non-Magic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Does Your Garden Grow

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This fic deals with a character with PTSD, and features an incident of related violence (mild-moderately graphic). I've rated it M to be on the safe side. There are no M-rated sexy times, sorry. But angst, and periodic fluff.
> 
> This is my entry into the Captain Swan Big Bang, Little Bang category.
> 
> The wonderful artist for my story is Sophie, aka shady-swan-jones on Tumblr. Check out her work, she is phenomenal!!!
> 
> Thank you to my amazing beta, holdmefastandclose, and my outstanding cheerleader, the realcaptainhook. Any remaining errors are my own.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as theadventureofhistorygirl. I'm a little quiet at the moment, but I pop in as I can.
> 
> UPDATE: This story was nominated for the 2016 Captain Swan Fanfic Awards (http://csfanficawards.tumblr.com/) in three categories: Modern AU, Multi-chapter under 50k, and Best Emma. I am floored and honored. Thank you so much!

He had ended up in horticulture almost by accident.  It certainly wasn’t his life’s plan.  That had been to be a sailor, with his brother.  In the Navy and then, when they had both tired of it and served out their time, out of it.  They would run a charter service, or captain fishing boats, or perhaps run a marina or be harbormasters.  In every version of his life, in every dream and idle imagining, there were two constants.  Liam and the sea.

 

Now, Liam was dead, consigned to the sea when their ship sunk under an attack by terrorists.  He wasn’t sure how he’d survived, only what they had said in the hospital at Landstuhl when he’d woken up there days later.  Thrown clear of the ship by the explosion that had crushed his left hand, he had been saved by another sailor, a midshipman named Ariel Havfrue, who had managed to keep him afloat with her on a hunk of debris until help arrived and he had been airlifted out.

 

And then he was just a man with an honorable medical discharge, a left hand that didn’t work right, and a diagnosis of PTSD.  He had spent a good amount of time at Walter Reed, with surgeries to place pins and graft tendons and nerves, and physical therapy to try and get as much dexterity back as he could.  And he had seen a lot of the in-house shrink, Captain Hopper.  It was Hopper who pushed him to look into college programs.  He’d have GI benefits, and disability benefits, and he’d need a new plan, after all. 

 

Hopper had ended up taking him to meet a man named Anton Pequeñito, a professor at Tidewater Community College in Norfolk.  Anton taught horticulture, and was himself a war veteran.  And so Killian Jones learned about the calm that came from…flowers.  And vegetables and other plants.  But there was something about flowers that felt ephemeral.  That lacked permanence.  Because he had learned nothing stayed, not even Liam in the end. 

 

And when he finished his associates, and a lot more therapy, Anton took him aside with an offer.  His father owned a small farm up in Maine, growing flowers in hot houses and some vegetables and supplying the small towns along the coast between Portland and Bangor.  Mr. Pequeñito was wanting to retire, but Anton and his brothers were all happy, and none of them really wanted to move home and take over the business.

 

“Pop asked me to recommend someone.  If you’re interested, he’d let you rent to own it over a five year period.”  Anton handed him a coffee as they talked.  “It’s a good business, does well.  I think you’d be good at it.  A fresh start, so to speak.”

 

They stood, staring out at the sea for a long time as he thought.  He had Liam’s death benefit from the Navy, and his own disability.  The place, Anton had told him, was still near the sea, and maybe if he did well, he could consider looking at getting a small sail boat down the line.  And it was somewhere that held no memories of Liam and his past.  A fresh start.  “Aye,” he said quietly, nodding.  “I’d be interested.”

 

********

 

Once Upon a Thyme Nursery and Florist Shop sat on the edge of Storybrooke, Maine, a sleepy little place on the coast. It had taken over the flower shop trade when Moe French had decided to retire and closed his own shop down.  The business really did look like an enchanted forest of some kind, with the nursery side full of hearty fruit trees and shrubs, annuals and herbs and vegetable garden starters, concrete bird baths and frog statues.  In the quaint little building, sides covered outside with ivy, potted plants and flower arrangements blended into the décor that looked like a fairy tale cottage.  It would almost be nauseating in it’s cuteness to Emma Swan if it didn’t feel so much like home.

 

She had been 17, pregnant, and in jail when she met Mary Margaret Nolan.  A few years older than her, the woman was a natural do-gooder, and had somehow talked the warden at the Long Creek Juvenile Development Center into letting her teach a floral arranging class for non-violent offenders.  Emma’s case worker stressed that she needed to both a) show she was making an effort and b) find something to keep her calm for the sake of her baby, and had steered her into the class.

 

The woman, petite with pixie cut dark hair and bright green eyes had smiled and called the students each by name, talking enthusiastically about color and design and the language of flowers.  One of the boys made a smart remark about how they were being taught by freaking Snow White, and while she admitted it was apt, she found something soothing about her.  Emma started staying after class to help clean up as one of her trustee duties, and Mrs. Nolan (Mary Margaret, please) had smiled warmly at her and ask her how she liked it, and which flowers were her favorite.  She even made a point of bringing in buttercups the next week.

 

Emma was around five months along when she passed out in the middle of class.  It hadn’t happened before, and it was scary when she woke up in a bed in the infirmary.  She was even more shocked to find Mary Margaret sitting beside her, reading.  The woman had smiled at her kindly, and then asked her what her long term plans were.

 

Emma faced the wall for a long moment, and then in a flat tone said her case worker had been talking to her about adoption.

 

“Is that what you want, Emma?”  There was no judgment in her voice, only kindness, and maybe that’s why she broke.

 

“It doesn’t matter.  What kind of life can I give a kid?” Her eyes filled with tears, because deep down, as much as she hated Neal for her situation, she had never had family of her own, not really.  And this kid was her family, and she still didn’t get to keep it.

 

Mary Margaret was quiet for a moment, then nodded to herself.  “I wasn’t going to say anything yet, but I’ve been talking to my husband David about you.”  She pulled out a photo from the book, her and a tall blond man smiling in front of a building.  “We own a nursery and florist shop about an hour up the coast, and we wondered if you might like to come stay with us when you get out.”

 

Emma was startled silent for a long moment.  This wasn’t what she was expecting.  “But that doesn’t change anything.  I’m due in three months, and I have another 6 on my sentence.  I’ll still have to give up the baby.”

 

Mary Margaret reached over and took her hand.  “Or, David and I can take care of it, until you’re out.  We couldn’t pay you a lot, but we inherited his mother’s old house and there's a ton of room.”  She gave her hand a gentle squeeze.  “Room and board and a small wage to start, and it would give you time to get back on your feet.”

 

“But why?”  If Emma knew one thing, it’s that everything came at a price.  “What’s in it for you?”

 

“You have a lot of talent, Emma.  You make arrangements better than some veteran florists I’ve known.”  And then the woman smiled.  “And, I just have a really good feeling about you.”

 

It was an answer, like magic, to everything.  “Okay.  Yes.”

 

She was woken from her reverie by the shop door banging open, bells clanging loudly.  “Mom!”  Her son, Henry, charged in, followed by a smaller boy with bright blond hair.  “Mom, Scott and Grace asked if Leo and I could come over for a while.  Is that okay?”

 

It was Emma’s day to have the boys with her in the back of the shop after school.  David and Mary Margaret were on a supply run to Portland, and while she liked their afternoons of homework at the old farm table in the workroom with cookies and milk, she actually had a lot to do today to get things done for a wedding this weekend.  “Does Mrs. Harron know that Scott asked?”  The woman also watched her neighbor Grace for her widowed father, who ran an accessory shop downtown.

 

“Yes, Aunt Emma!”  Leo’s bright, gap toothed grin made her smile.  David, and Mary Margaret were old pros at colic and midnight feedings from helping with Henry by the time their son joined the little family when the older boy was two.  

 

While Emma had originally planned to move on, life with the Nolans was stable, and Henry adored them, and when they offered to make her a partner in the business three years in, she had just stayed.  It had been ten years now, and the only real change was that she had a place of her own in town.

 

“Okay, but be back by 5PM?  Granny’s for dinner.”  She laughed as the boys whooped and dropped their school bags off, then took off outside.  School ended in a week, so it’s not like homework was a concern.

 

She had about another fifteen minutes of peace and quiet, working at the table on centerpieces for the younger Arendelle sister's wedding in shades of greens and purple, placing each finished one in the cooler.  Then, the bell jingled again, gentler this time, meaning it wasn't the boys coming back.  "Just a minute," she called, placing the last few blooms.

 

"Take your time, Miss Emma," Mr. Pequeñito responded.  She found herself smiling.  The old man grew hothouse flowers, and while they paid a little more buying most of their stock for the florist shop from him, the quality they got in return was exceptional.  He was also incredibly kind to her and Henry whenever they saw him. 

 

Rinsing and drying her hands, she put the last centerpiece in the walk-in, then stepped out of the back into the main room.  Javier Pequeñito was leaning down, looking into the cooler at a couple of small readymade arrangements Emma had done that morning.  Two had already sold and the purchasers would be by to pick them up soon.  The others would easily hold for a day or two.  "You do such lovely things with my plants, Miss Emma."

 

"Thank you, Javier."  Then she noticed the other man, standing in the corner unobtrusively.  Her step hitched at how...beautiful he was.  Handsome, obviously, but there was something about the combination of brown hair so dark it was nearly black, ears that seemed to come to an almost elfin peak, and blue eyes like the depths of the sea that knocked her back a step.  "Sorry, I didn't see you sir, can I help you?"

 

"Oh, er, no."  He blushed, slightly, his right hand coming up to scratch behind his ear.  "That is, er, I'm here to help you, lass."

 

Emma raised an eyebrow at him, but Javier just chuckled.  “You know I am getting old, Miss Emma, and I want to retire.  Spend time with my sons and their children.”  He walked over, clapping a hand on the younger man’s shoulder.  “This is Killian.  He was my Anton’s star pupil.  I am going to be selling the business to him, moving off the farm.  I am taking him around today so he can meet the customers.”

 

She had wondered what would happen when this day came, had worried about it.  On the one hand, she was glad that Javier had looked for someone to sell the business too, rather than just close it down. Having to find a new supplier would have been hard.  But on the other, this new man, this Killian, was a complete unknown.  Then again, she had been too, when she first arrived in the Nolan’s truck the day she had been released from Long Creek. Emma held her hand out to him.  “Nice to meet you, Killian.  I’m Emma Swan.”

 

He didn’t immediately move to take it, and she felt annoyance rise until she saw how embarrassed he looked.  Glancing down, she noticed for the first time the web of scars tracing the skin of his other hand and how stiff he held it.  Oh.  Emma brought her eyes back up and gave him her best warm smile.

 

His own smile in return was shy and hesitant, making his face instantly younger and his eyes impossibly bluer.  “It’s quite nice to meet you, Emma.  You have a lovely shop.”

 

“Half mine,” she said.  Because no matter how far she came, she never forgot that David and Mary Margaret got her here.  “I’m partners with my friends, the Nolans, but they’re out of town at the moment.”

 

“I’ll look forward to meeting them next time.”  He shook her hand carefully, and Emma found herself grinning at his manners. It wasn’t that she didn’t know guys with them, but it was rare that she found them directed at her.  She had been pretty prickly when she first moved to town, and now, she was just Emma, and Henry’s mom.  

 

“Until then, Killian.”  She turned to Javier.  “Mary Margaret will want to have you to dinner before you leave town.  I’ll have her call you.”

 

“Of course, Miss Emma.”  He gave her a warm hug.  “Say hello to Henry for me.”

 

Something in Killian’s eyes seemed to dim a little at that, but he excused himself and was out the door as the old man let her go.  A mystery to unravel then.  Emma saw Javier out, then returned to the work room.  If she was diligent, she could get all the remaining centerpieces done before the boys came back for dinner.

*****

 

Storybrooke was more than he'd expected.  The farm itself was on the outskirts of town, in a small valley edging onto the forest.  The little house dated to the early twentieth century, white painted clapboards with a green shingled roof.  Javier had offered to stay on for a month to get him settled before he headed down to Anton's in Virginia.  He didn't mind settling into the guest room for now, in the old iron bedstead with antique white linens and covers. After all, his last place was the furnished student studio that Captain Hopper had helped him find, with the murphy bed that folded down out of the wall.

 

Aside from the house, there was a small barn and three good sized greenhouses, plus some fields for vegetables.  Most mornings, he woke before dawn, stumbling into the kitchen for coffee and some quick breakfast before heading out to the greenhouses.  There, in the quiet sounds of birds and insects, the wind in the trees and through the old wind chimes that Javier's late wife made, he lost himself in flats of pansies and dahlias.  In the warm rows of rose bushes, and in Gerber daisies and baby's breath and Queen Anne's lace.  And in his favorite, the orchids.  Soft and yet surprisingly strong, delicate and complex, he's had a soft spot for orchids since the first time Anton had showed his intro classes how to shape and tie them.

 

Javier joined him a little while later, walking him through orders and record keeping and their usual customers.  In addition to Once Upon a Thyme, where his mind kept being drawn back to the enchanting owner, they also served shops in towns north and south on different delivery schedules.  And once the summer vegetables started coming in, he'd also be delivering to some of the area restaurants catering to the tourist trade demand for slow food and farm to table, as well as a rotating schedule of farmer's markets. 

 

It was a quiet life.  Even when he went into town, people were friendly, but seemed just as willing to let him be.  Granny at the diner offered him a wave and a smile, but didn't need much more than that to serve him his lunch order of lasagna and more coffee.  The cashier at the market knew his name, but other than saying hello and thanking him for his business, kept his opinions to himself.  The same was true at the bank, and the pharmacy, and the cleaners on the rare occasion he needed them.  He went about his business, and then retreated to the farm and its plants and a glorious sort of silence where he could lose himself in the work and try to forget.

 

There were exceptions, of course.  Not long after they stopped in at the charming little florist and nursery, he had been included in the dinner invitation of the other owners, the Nolans, issued to Javier. He dearly wanted to beg off, but they were clients, and he knew that his ability to keep the farm going, keep the business healthy and profitable, was going to depend on keeping his clients happy.

 

What he had not anticipated when they pulled up in the old truck he was buying with the farm was something just as magical as the shop.  This farmhouse was bigger than his new home, a glorious craftsman that seemed to glow in the late spring light.  Two boys chased each other around the yard, playing with a hound dog.  "Copper! Fetch!"  The younger boy threw a stick and then laughed as the floppy thing chased it.

 

The older boy spotted them, and turned, running up, hugging the older man.  "Hey Mr. Javier!"

 

"Good evening, Henry." The name drew him up short.  When he had met Emma Swan two weeks before, Javier had told her to say hello to Henry for him.  He had assumed...well, how was he to think anything other than that someone as fine as her was of course otherwise attached.  "How'd school finish for you?"

 

"Terrific!  Ms. Nova said I had the best writing of anyone in the class!" He grinned widely.  "I'm going to try writing a book this summer.  About a pirate and a princess and a curse."

 

"Sounds good.  You'll have to get your mother to email it to me, so I can read it."  He nodded at Killian. "Henry, this is Killian Jones.  He's taking over the farm."

 

"Oh!  My mom said she met you."  The boy smiled at him warmly, offering his hand to shake.  "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Jones."

 

"And you, lad." He took it, shaking firmly, then watched as he ran off to catch up with the younger boy where he played on a tire swing.  Just then, the screen door opened, and the lady on his mind was on the porch.

 

"Henry! Leo!  Come wash up for supper."  Her hair caught the light, glinting gold above her plaid shirt as she waved.  "Good evening!  Come around back, David's got the grill up."  Then she disappeared in the door.

 

He turned to find Javier looking at him a little sadly.  "Be careful.  Miss Emma is beautiful, and she is kind.  But she has been hurt, and she doesn't let people in close."  And with that sage advice, he headed around on the path between the rose bushes to the back of the house.  Killian watched him go for a moment, then followed after.

 

Dinner was the liveliest he'd experienced since his time in the Navy.  Even while he was a student, he tended to keep to himself.  Occasionally, Anton would drag him along with the rest of the student horticulture club for dinner, but he'd often have one beer and then make his excuses to return to his little studio apartment, and his microwave meals, and his rum.  

 

Instead, here there was a long farmhouse style table in the yard, under trees lit up with fairy lights.  The scuffed wood surface was scattered with mismatched plates and cutlery, pitchers of lemonade and water, and platters of food.  Mr. Nolan, who insisted he call him David, had grilled up burgers and sausages, as well as ears of sweet corn.  His wife, Mary Margaret, had fixed deviled eggs and potato salad, while Emma was apparently famous for a hot chocolate cake, covered in whipped cream icing and sprinkled with cinnamon.

 

There was laughter as they ate, stories shared about their time with Javier since they had started their business, of the boys’ year at school.  He stayed mostly quiet, sharing only that he had come to the states as a boy to live with an older great aunt after his mother passed, and no, he had no real family to speak of.  Throughout the meal, he noticed Emma was similarly quiet, smiling softly but sharing little.  She seemed content to sip her beer and laugh at the antics of her son and the Nolan’s boy.

 

In the early evening light, she seemed to glow as if she was some fae princess out of one of Aunt Nan’s old stories.  She was so utterly different from anyone he’d met, including his disastrous brief liaison with a woman he later found out was married with a child to a civilian contract lawyer down in Annapolis.  Things with his Milah had ended poorly when the man found out, and it took Liam interceding not to ruin his career.  And then only months later…

 

“Are you alright?”  He jerked out of his revery to find Emma looking at him, concerned.  

 

“Aye, lass.  Sorry.”  He reached up to scratch behind his ear, a nervous tic he’d had since he could remember.  “Got lost in a memory.”

 

She nodded, and smiled, and then refilled his glass before moving to help Mary Margaret start carrying leftover food inside.  As he watched her walk away, he realized that at least in this one area, he would like as not be frequently discomfited.  

****** 

 

Emma noticed only small changes, really, when Javier left.  Deliveries were still promptly on-time and exactly what they had ordered.  The quality of the flowers remained completely undiminished.  Prices remained largely the same.  What changed was the quiet.  Javier had always been effusive, outgoing, and ever ready to chat as he helped stock the delivery into their coolers.  He’d ask after Emma, after Henry and Leo, after the Nolans.  Often, he’d stay for a cup of coffee or cocoa with her and Mary Margaret before heading off to his next delivery.

 

Mr. Jones was quieter.  He’d smile shyly when he arrived, still helping with the unloading and storage of the flowers.  And he’d accept a cup of coffee or tea if it was offered, but he mostly seemed...shy wasn’t the right word.  Emma wasn’t sure what was though.  She knew about walls and being wary of people.  Even all these years later, with the Nolans as an ever present example of what hope could do, Emma was cautious. Guarded. Wary might be the right word.

 

The first time she saw him outside the shop, it was almost two months since he’d first been by with Javier, and she’d run to town to make a deposit at the bank and stopped in at Granny’s for some lunch.  Brown paper bag in her hand, she stepped out the door just as Killian Jones came up the walk.  She’d been about to wave when the street was rocked by a large boom.  Looking up she saw smoke coming out of a transformer up the street that was being worked on by Leroy, the head of the town’s power maintenance staff.

 

Glancing back down, she was shocked to find Mr. Jones crouching with his hands over his head by the gate into Granny’s patio.  Moving quickly toward him, she knelt down and laid a hand on his arm.  He jerked, hand almost colliding with her face if she hadn’t rocked back on her heels.  “Hey, Mr. Jones. Killian.  It’s okay.”  She tried again, a hand gentle on his shoulder.  “It was a transformer.  Leroy really shouldn’t be allowed to work on them.  But it’s okay, everything’s okay.”

 

His eyes initially looked haunted as he raised his head to look at her.  Then, after a moment or two, he blinked hard.  “Emma?”

 

“Yeah.  It’s okay.  You’re alright.”  She didn’t move her hand, but she felt him tense up all the same. He blushed, turning red to the tips of his ears.  “I’m sorry…”

 

She felt him take a shuddering breath and draw back from her.  “No, my apologies lass.  I didn’t mean…”  He stood quickly, looking mortified.  “I’m keeping you.  Enjoy your lunch Miss Swan.”

 

And before Emma could say another word, he was gone, darting away into the diner.  She stared after him for a long moment before her phone chimed with a text message from Henry, asking about having a movie night with his friends Ava and Nicholas.  With one last glance toward the door, she grabbed her to-go bag and got on her way.

  
After that, she noticed a subtle shift.  Before, like clockwork, she could expect Mr. Jones’s deliveries to come during the time she was in the shop.  He’d greet her with a quiet hello and a soft smile, and they’d work together to unload and get things put away.  Sometimes he’d leave a couple new blooms for her under the guise of product samples.  It was sweet and not forward or pushy, and she had come to like those times very much.  There was a sort of companionship there, even in the silence.

 

Now, his schedule completely changed.  Deliveries happened in the early part of the morning when David was opening the business for the day.  Or at times when she was usually out on deliveries and Mary Margaret was manning the shop.  It had been almost a solid two weeks and she couldn’t simply chalk it up to a one time thing or a slight change in schedule any more.  Killian Jones was clearly avoiding her.  And Emma found that, when she thought about it, it made her sadder than she could say.   
  


******

He couldn’t remember a time when he’d been more mortified than the day that Emma Swan had seen him cowering like a bloody whipped dog in the courtyard of Granny’s Diner.  It had been a while since he’d been triggered that badly.  A long, long while; maybe since before he’d left Walter Reed to attend school.  And he could just hear Captain Hopper in his head, imploring him to look into a local counselor when he told him of his plans to move.  How PTSD was a condition that had to be managed, that might never be cured.  Just like his bloody hand.

 

He’d barely registered Emma as he turned to walk in the gate and head inside the diner for lunch.  Just a brief glint of her golden hair, and a split second’s recognition when the stupid, bloody transformer had exploded with a deep boom and a shower of sparks.  And suddenly, he was in the too tight passageway of a navy frigate, knocked off his feet by the first blast of a bomb.  He coughed, choking on the acrid smell of smoke tinged with something chemical, the iron of blood and the taste of salt in his mouth.  He could hear screaming, could hear Liam shouting at him from far away that they needed to hurry to deck, to man the guns.

 

His ears rang, anticipating the second fatal blast that would rip the ship in half, that would crush his hand, that would consign Liam to a watery grave.  And then, a hand was on him, gentle, and a voice, kind and worried, talking to him.  He jerked, but the person didn’t leave, and slowly, like swimming up through mud, he came back to the street, and the sounds of small town, to Leroy cursing in the cherry picker and the mayor, Regina, hollering at him about being incompetent.  And Emma.  Emma with her hand on his shoulder, and a look of fear and worry and...god, what felt like pity in her eyes.

 

He had brushed her off, made his excuses, and run.  And then, when he got home that night, he got blinding drunk on rum for the first time in a long time.  Now, he’d taken to changing his delivery schedule.  Nothing her shop ordered was ever late; in fact, he got it there ahead of time.  But he’d quickly figured out her schedule, and found avoidance was best.

 

It hadn’t helped that now he saw Mary Margaret Nolan so much more.  She was a lovely woman, with keen eyes and a heart more open than anyone he’d ever met in his life.  He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that she would try so hard to draw him into the fold, the way Javier had clearly been. Every time he came by with a delivery, or saw her around town, she was inviting him to dinner, or Sunday brunch, or to encourage him to attend some town gathering.

 

There had been a time when he had been nearly as gregarious as the old man was.  He and Liam both were frequently ribbed by their fellow shipmates for how charming and easygoing they were.  William Smee, who served on their gun crew with them, had said that either or both Jones brother could talk the paint right off of the deck of their ship.

 

Now, though, he worried that future dinners would mean he’d have to see Emma.  That he’d be forced to remember that look in her eyes as she knelt next to him, pity for a broken and crippled man.  Hell, he’d probably have to see it all over again.  So he’d make excuses, thank her politely, and as soon as the delivery was done, he’d get the hell out of there.

 

What he had not reckoned on, however, was young Henry.  Apparently, during the summer, some of the teachers ran a day camp for the children who attended the elementary school.  Less about lessons and more about hands on fun and exploring, he’d been surprised to get a call from the head teacher, a woman named Nova.  She told him that in past years, Javier would have the camp out to the farm for an afternoon to tour.  He felt he couldn’t rightly say no, so a day and a time were arranged.

 

On the appointed afternoon, he waited at the gate to greet the bus, smiling as brightly as he could as sixteen children exited, followed by three teachers.  Among the kids were Leo Nolan and Henry Swan.  The older boy lit up when he saw him, running forward.  “Mr. Jones!”

 

“Good day, Henry.  Welcome to the farm.”  He was surprised when the boy hugged him.  Leo had followed him forward, but stayed back just a bit, wide eyed.

 

“Thank you for having us, Mr. Jones!  My mom and Aunt Mary Margaret said to tell you hello!” The lad, with his thatch of dark hair and his wide, curious eyes exuded pure happiness.  Killian found it impossible to tamp down the little spark of answering joy in the face of it.

 

“That’s kind of them.  Please give them my best regard.”  He nodded to Miss Nova as she brought the other children forward.  “This will likely all be old hat to you, young Henry.  And you, Leo, what with the nursery.”

 

“Nah, because we either see the plants when they are just babies, or when mom and Aunt Mary Margaret do bouquets.”  Henry looked at him, then grinned at Miss Nova.  “We’ll get to see them in between today!”

  
“Right you are, lad!  Come on, then.”  And he lead them around, talking about how the greenhouses worked, and what they grew in each.  He talked about types of soil, and the planting season for the various vegetables he was growing in his row crops.  And then he lead them all to a couple of tables he had set up with small plastic pots and herb starters.  With the help of the teachers, he showed the kids how to prepare the pots and transplant an herb to it.  After they were done, they used paint pens to write their names on them to take home.

 

A snack of cookies and punch, provided by the camp, rounded out the two hours of the field trip.  Miss Nova smiled gratefully at him.  “Thank you so much, Mr. Jones.  This has been one of our most fun outings.”  She glanced around at the children.  “Can we all say, ‘Thank you Mr. Jones?’”

 

A chorus of thank yous made him blush a little and scratch behind his ear.  Miss Nova and the other teachers started organizing clean up, preparing the kids for the bus ride back to school.  He had glanced away when he felt someone tug his left hand.  Killian froze, then turned, finding Henry smiling up brightly at him.  “This was so cool, Mr. Jones.  I can’t wait to give my mom the plant.  She really loves potted plants, and this one will be extra special, because you helped.”  He paused for breath, and Killian was startled to find he didn’t mind the boy holding that hand.  The lad appeared completely unfazed by it.  “Hey, you should come to dinner Friday.  Mom mentioned she missed seeing you around the shop, and it’s her anniversary in town, and we’re having a cook-out.  Could you please come? She’d love it, and Aunt Mary Margaret would too.  And me.  You can help me tell mom about the soil for the plant.”

 

He was curious what the lad meant by her anniversary.  Gently, he shook his head.  “Henry, that’s very kind of you, but you shouldn’t just invite people without talking to your mother first.  Or your Aunt.”  He gave the lad a fond smile.  “But I appreciate the invitation.”

 

Henry’s smile faded a little.  “Really, they’d love to have you.  I heard Mom telling Mary Margaret that she wished she knew why you’d changed your schedule.  I think she liked you coming by when she worked.”  He reminded Killian of nothing so much as a hopeful puppy.  “And Mary Margaret said she’s invited you before.  Do you not want to spend time with us?”

 

God, he hadn’t expected that.  He could only assume it’s because he was new and interesting, something that seemed rare to the town that Henry was so insistent. He sighed to himself, then forced a bigger smile.  “How about this, lad? I’ll ask your Aunt tomorrow, and if the invitation is extended, I’ll come.”

 

“Yes!”  Henry hugged him again, and he gave himself credit for not going stiff.  “This will be awesome.”  Then the boy ran off, presumably to tell Leo the good news.  Killian watched him go and wondered quite what he’d gotten himself into.

 

*****

Normally, Mary Margaret ran the shop on Thursdays.  It was the day when Emma would take time to drive down to Portland if need be and do shopping, both for the business (bless Costco) and for herself and Henry if they needed shoes or clothes or anything that couldn’t be had from one of the small local businesses or ordered easily on Amazon.  If she didn’t need to do a run to Portland, she’d catch up on housework, or she’d take a nap, or even, wonder of wonders, pop in to the library for a quick cup of tea and a chat with Belle, who had an uncanny ability to suggest books Emma would end up loving.

 

This week, however, Emma found herself humming as she did light cleaning and changed up the displays in Once Upon a Thyme.  Mary Margaret had confided to her just yesterday that she and David had been trying again for another baby.  They’d tried a few years ago, when Leo was three, but she had come down with a pretty scary bacterial infection that put everything on hold until the doctors could clear it up.  Things had been terrifying for a while, and it looked like the Nolans might just have the one son.

 

However, with clearance from her doctor, Mary Margaret had wanted to give it one more try.  And now, she was late.  She’d been able to get an appointment for today while Leo was off to day camp with Henry, and so she and David were taking the day.  In exchange, Mary Margaret would take Emma’s Friday shift so she could have her whole day off.

 

She hadn’t ever celebrated a birthday as a kid.  Most foster homes and group homes couldn’t be bothered to keep track. Her’s was in October, and depending on where she was, the day was frequently gloomy and cold and wet.  After her stint in juvie, after Henry was born, on the day that Mary Margaret and David had come to pick her up, her little boy in a car seat, she had cried because this was a new beginning, and with Henry, the family she had always wished for.  Little did she know the Nolans would be such a permanent part of that too.  It became the anniversary of her fresh start.  And so a tradition began.  Emma Swan celebrated that day with her family.

 

Her mind was on those same people, and their own possibly new beginning, when the bells at the door jangled and she looked up to find Killian backing through, carrying a crate of potted orchids.  He’d really expanded on that side of the farm, and the results were stunning.  Emma had been featuring them in the shop and orders had picked up as a result.  She smiled to see him as he focused on his task, absentmindedly calling out, “Morning, Mrs. Nolan.”

 

“Good morning, Mr. Jones.”  She spoke the words lightly, with an air of teasing, and was shocked when he startled so badly, he nearly dropped the crate.  Emma sprang forward, her hands moving to support it, and found herself staring into his eyes. They really were the shade of forget me nots, and she could see him struggling with himself as she inadvertently boxed him in against the door.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

 

“No, lass, my fault.”  He looked away, and Emma stepped back, letting him move into the room.  “I thought Mrs. Nolan worked today.”

 

“She had a personal thing come up, so we traded days.”  She moved to the counter, pulling out the copy of the order they had faxed him for today.  “I appreciate you being so prompt with the order.  It could have waited until tomorrow.”

 

His facial expression almost seemed to suggest he wished he’d have waited, and she wondered what she could do to fix the awkwardness between them.  He passed her, setting the crate back into the workroom, then turned.  “I’ll just grab the others.”  

 

They worked in silence, Emma checking off items as he brought them in, organizing them where they needed to go.  In no time, the list was completed.  He waited, fidgeting as she wrote out a check for payment.  “Thanks again, Killian.”  He took it, folding it and tucking it into the pocket of his work shirt.  He had turned to go when she reached for him.  He froze as her hand landed on his left wrist, just above where the scarring started.  “Listen, I wanted to...apologize.  I think I must have done something to make you uncomfortable, and that wasn’t my intention.  I hope you don’t feel like you have to rearrange your life to avoid me.”

 

Killian stared at the counter top for a long time, silent and immobile, and she realized she still held his hand.  Blushing herself, she let go.  She was about to apologize again when his voice, slightly gravely, said, “Nothing you did, love.”  The word almost made her startle, but it was just a slang endearment after all.  “I… I was embarrassed by what happened at the diner.  But believe me, you did nothing wrong.  You...you helped.”

 

His right hand had come up, and he scratched behind his ear, sheepish, and Emma was struck by how much this mysterious man must be hurting.  And by how much she wanted to get through his walls and find out who he had been before life had been so unkind.  “We all have our demons.” His head came up, eyes wide.  “There’s no shame in asking for help fighting them.”

 

“Aye, lass.  I imagine you’re right.”  He was looking at her in a way that made her curious.  She reached up, worrying her necklace instinctively.  The one she wore to remind herself of what trusting too easy had cost her.  Even now, after years of Mary Margaret and David’s love and care, that kind of trust…well, it had been a long time since that had been her first instinct with someone.  Until now.  “Um, your lad, Henry.  He came to the farm with his camp.”

 

“Oh!” She smiled widely now, thinking of the little plant in her window sill back at her apartment.  “He said.  Thank you for having them out.  I know he and Leo really loved it.”

 

“I’m glad.”  He hesitated for a long time, and she wondered if she should help him out, close the conversation.  But then he did the scratching his head thing again, and there was this little woosh of something a lot like attraction in her chest, and yeah, no, she didn’t need that right now.  “Um...he asked if I’d like to come to dinner.  He was fairly insistent about it.  Something about a big day tomorrow.”

 

Emma’s eyes widened.  This particular Friday dinner was traditionally family only, and he looked so uncomfortable about it.  “I’m sorry.  Please don’t feel obligated.”

 

“I don’t.  That is to say, he didn’t make me feel obligated.”  Killian was blushing again, just a bit.  “I told him I’d ask Mrs. Nolan about it, but she’s not here, so just no worries lass.  It’s fine.”

 

At that, he turned to go.  Emma couldn’t say later what prompted her to do it.  Maybe it was the joy in Henry’s eyes yesterday, talking about the farm.  Maybe it was the kindness and the sadness she saw in Killian’s, the lost look she saw so often in the mirror.  Maybe it was the fact that she felt something when she saw him, something more than a physical itch or neighborly goodwill.  “Killian.”  He turned to look at her.  “We’d love to have you join us.  If you want to be a part of something.  It would mean a lot.  To Henry.  And to me.”

 

At that, something lit up in his eyes, surprised and warm.  He searched her face like she so often did others, like he needed to make sure she was telling the truth, that she really did want him to come and wasn’t just being polite.  “Aye, love.  I’d like to.  Shall I come out to the Nolans’ at seven then?”

 

“Perfect.”  And Emma smiled, large and happy.  He gave her another of his sweet, shy smiles, the same one’s she’d missed these past few weeks.  “Have a good day, Killian.”

 

“Aye, Swan.  You too.”  And then he turned and was gone.  Emma gazed after him at the door for a long time.  Then she took out her phone and texted Mary Margaret to let her know there’d be one more for tomorrow’s dinner. 

 

****

 

Killian had a lot on his mind on Thursday afternoon.  After he’d finished the rest of his deliveries and returned to the farm, he’d spent a little time on the phone with the VA Clinic in Portland.  They were able to suggest a therapist who worked on contract one town over from Storybrooke, and helped him make an appointment for the following day.  After that, he ended up in the orchid house, replanting one of the nicer ones into a pot in the shade of green that matched Emma’s eyes.

 

That night, after a dinner of beef and vegetable soup and crusty bread, he read for a few hours and then drifted to sleep.  Since the incident at the diner, he’d had an uptick in nightmares, the kind that woke him gasping for air, clawing at sheets and drenched in sweat.  He worried tonight might be the same, but instead, his mind took him somewhere else.  

 

His great aunt Nan had emigrated to the States when she was nineteen, having met an American man on leave after the war, and marrying in a whirlwind courtship.  They’d made a home in the shipyards near Annapolis until his great uncle Danny had come down with cancer from the exposure to asbestos, and passed.  Their only son, named Tommy, had been killed in the early days of Vietnam.

 

Nan had been a grand old dame when he and Liam had been sent to live with her.  He’d been just seven, Liam had been fourteen; their mother killed by a drunk driver fifteen months after Brennan Jones had up and taken a walk for a pint and never came back.  Tall and broad, with hair like grey steel wool, she had been brusque at first.  But that first night when he’d woken screaming, she’d held him, and Liam too, crooning the old Irish lullabies his mother used to sing.  Nan had died not long after he had enlisted, following Liam into the service.

 

Now, in his dream, he was standing on the beach she used to take them to in the summers.  Sand melded with grey rock and driftwood, the salt air in his nose and the cry of gulls in his ears.  It seemed strange, seeing Nan there, smiling and waving at him from the bench she loved.  He was himself, his hand crushed, older now than he’d been when last he saw her.  And Liam, standing there looking like he remembered.  His hair just a little long for regulations, a hint of curl.  A bit of scruff.  And smiling.

 

“I miss you, Liam.” He looked at his brother in this dream scape, and his heart ached, softly.  “I miss you so bloody much, you and Nan.”

 

“I know, little brother.”  Liam gave him a playful tap in the arm.

 

“Younger brother, Liam.”  Killian couldn’t help staring.  “I’m so sorry.  I wish…”

 

“Killy.  Nothing to be done for me.” He gave him that little half smirking grin.  “But now you need to put yourself to rights. You can’t live in the past, with us.”

 

“Aye, I know.”  He noticed the edges of the scene fading like a watercolor.  “Good form, eh, brother?”

 

“Quite right, Killian.”  Liam began to fade away and Killian looked back, watching Nan fade from sight.  He turned back, feeling tears drain down his cheeks.  “Be good, brother.  Be good.”  

 

He woke up in his bed, salt from his tears on his lips, but at the same time, a deeper sense of peace then he’d had in awhile.

 

On Friday, he got up early and made his deliveries to the Farmer’s Market and a few local restaurants.  Then he got back into his truck and drove a town over, to the address he’d been given the day before.  He found the office in a rambling old Victorian near the main street, carved up into offices with a shared receptionist.  The woman whose office he was shown into was...diminutive.  

 

“Good morning, Mr. Jones.  I’m Tiffany Bell, but please call me Tink.” She held out her hand, grinning up at him with her green dress and her blond hair piled on top of her head, and he wondered if he was making a terrible mistake.  “Have a seat.”

 

He sat quietly on the couch as they settled in, waiting for her to ask him the standard sort of questions that Hopper had.  So, she surprised him.  “Tell me about your business.”  And so he had.  He talked about the plants, and the customers.  He talked about planting, and greenhouses, and the farm house.  He talked about Emma and Mary Margaret, but also Chef Louis at the seafood place down near the docks, and Alvin who ran a florist shop three towns over.  And, he found, their hour passed very quickly.

 

“Killian.  May I call you Killian?” Miss Bell...Tink asked.  He found himself nodding.  “It sounds like you’ve found something good here.  And the fact you want to take steps to keep yourself in a place where you can enjoy it is good.  So, assuming you wish to continue, here’s your homework.  First, I’d like you to pick three people who aren’t customers, and interact with them a bit more.  Second, I’d like you to keep a journal of any incidents where you have symptoms.  Try to note anything that you think might be triggering them.  And third, I’d like you to think about getting a dog.”

 

“A...I’m sorry, a dog?” He looked at her, one eyebrow cocked.  “Pet therapy?”

 

“A therapy dog.  Trained to recognize when you’re having an episode, and to help.”  Tink shut the notebook she’d been taking notes in.  “So, what do you say?  Shall we continue?”

 

“Aye, Miss...Tink.  I think I’d like that.”  Killian found himself smiling.  “Thank you.”

 

“Absolutely.  Just speak to Ellen at the desk on the way out, she’ll get us on a regular schedule.”  Tink stood, holding out her hand.  “Have a good weekend.  I’ll see you next week.”

 

*****

Mary Margaret really was too much sometimes.  Emma stood, looking out over the back yard where David was grilling her favorite foods (steak and lobster tails...there were advantages to living in Maine).  The table was set, drinks made, a silly pile of presents at one end.  It still, to this day, always felt like too much.  Like she’d open her eyes and be back in that prison cell, alone and unwanted.  In those moments, she stopped, taking a deep breath and using the trick the counselor Mary Margaret talked her into seeing taught her.  

 

“Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire, Massachusetts…” It usually only took her down the eastern seaboard, as far as Virginia, to accept that this was reality; that she was safe, and loved, and had a family.

 

She watched as the boys ran around after Copper and Chief, the neighbor’s dog from up the road.  Henry was everything.  Everything she thought she’d never have.  Everything she hadn’t realized she’d really wanted.  He was growing up, turning ten soon, and while he’d always be enough for her, she worried what her life would be when he was gone- off to college and out in the world.  

 

Oh, she’d still have David and Mary Margaret.  Still have Leo for a couple more years after that, and now the new little one.  She loved being in on the secret, knowing there was going to be another part to their family.  Loved that she’d be an auntie for years to come.  And there was Granny and Ruby, and Belle at the library.  She knew, rationally, she’d never be alone again.  Irrationally though.

 

“Rhode Island, Connecticut, New York, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Delaware....”

 

“Are you studying for a geography test, lass?” Killian had been quiet coming around the house.  So quiet, in fact, she hadn’t heard him, and she jumped, turning to find him smiling at her, warm and fond.

 

“No, it’s just a thing I do, when I need to center myself.”  She met his eyes, and her breath caught at how open and earnest he looked.  She’d worried on Thursday that he’d said yes to coming because she’d made him feel even more obligated than Henry. However, it was clear that he really was happy to be here with them, enjoying a warm summer evening.

 

“I wasn’t sure what kind of party it was, so I hope this is appropriate.”  In his hands was a glazed green planter, one she recognized as the work of a local potter.  In it, he had planted and shaped a green orchid with slight purple coloring at the blooms centers.  It draped elegantly, and was unlike anything else she’d seen.  “Happy day, Swan.”

 

“Killian, it’s…” She took it, catching a hint of scent.  “It’s stunning.  Thank you.”

 

He smiled at her again, and she found she loved when he did that.  He looked...softer, and more open when he smiled at her that way.  They walked over to the table, where she set the orchid in a place of focus in the center.  Then she turned.  “Can I offer you a beer?”

 

The next few hours were, in a word, perfect.  Killian sat next to her at the table, across from David, with Henry on her other side.  Mary Margaret and Leo filled out the rest.  They ate, and talked, and ate.  Leo sang a song they’d learned at camp, and Henry drew Killian out into talking about the potting activity from their field trip.  Finally, as they finished dessert, David stood.  “I’d like to make a toast.  To Emma, who fate brought into our lives.  It’s been nine years since the day you came to live with us, and I don’t think any of us realized how important that day would be.” He nodded.  “And to Killian, and new friends.  Cheers!” 

 

Glasses and bottles clinked, and then Mary Margaret insisted Emma open gifts.  She blushed as Killian watched her.  There was a new scarf and beanie, even though it was summer, because she was always losing hers.  There was a picture from with a photo of her and Henry at Granny’s.  There was a CD labeled “Mom and Me: My Awesome Mixtape” from Henry, and a bag of her favorite taffy from Leo.

 

After they were done, Mary Margaret insisted she would not help clean on her big day, and guests wouldn’t either.  Instead, she and David got the boys to help, leaving Emma and Killian alone.  She quietly suggested taking their drinks around to the front of the house, and the old porch swing.

 

The sky had just gone to twilight, pink and gold clouds across a lilac purple backdrop as they sat on the creaking wood and looked out across the fields beyond the house.  The quiet breathed for a while with the gentle rock of the seat, the warmth of Killian’s side near hers making her so aware of his presence.  She didn’t do things like this, not really.  After Neal...well, after Neal, she had been hugely wary.  And exhausted, with an infant son, and then a toddler, and even with help, she was so often bone weary at the end of the day.  

 

And the only other times she’d tried had not gone well.  There had been Graham, who for a while had been the sheriff in town.  He was a kind man, with an easy smile, and good with Henry.  But an offer had come to take a position in a larger town.  They hadn’t been dating long, and though he’d asked, she just couldn’t imagine leaving David and Mary Margaret, and the safety of the shop.  So he’d kissed her softly good-bye, and that was that.

 

And then there was Walsh, from a few towns over.  He owned some sort of weird furniture store, nouveau vintage kitsch.  Walsh had pushed for a commitment from day one, and pushed hard.  And Emma had been reticent to give it.  It turned out to be a wise choice, because when she’d shown up to his shop to surprise him early for a date, she’d walked in on him and his landlady, a woman named Zelena.  Emma hadn’t cried, hadn’t even been that sad about it.  Things had never felt quite right with Walsh.  If anything, she felt vindicated.  And she just stopped trying.

 

Finally, his voice, slightly rough from disuse and with that accent she still tried to place, broke the spell.  “I don’t mean to pry, Emma, but what sort of anniversary was this?  I had assumed you’d always been in Storybrooke.”

 

She didn’t often share this story.  A few people knew where she had come to town from, but for most, Emma was just a relative of the Nolans who had come to live with them as a young, unwed mother.  Something about Killian Jones, though, made her want to be honest.

 

“I grew up in foster care.  My parents left me on the side of the road when I was a newborn.  It was...well, it wasn’t the best childhood.” David had always said she had a gift for understatement.  She was trying to decide how to go forward when she realized Killian had taken her hand in his. In his left hand.  No words, just a gesture of support, but she imagined what that might be costing him.  “Anyway, I ran away from my last group home when I was sixteen.  I was on the streets, and I ended up meeting this guy.  Henry’s father.  He taught me how to survive, how to steal and not get caught.  And I thought we loved each other.  Until one day, he left me set up to take the fall for something.  I never saw him again.”

 

“I’m sorry, Emma.”  There was gentle pressure on her palm and her fingers, and she could make out the scars and the stiffness there, so she squeezed back softly.

 

“Don’t be.  It was horrible, but it brought Mary Margaret into my life.  If it hadn’t happened, who knows how I would have ended up.”  She told him about the classes, about the Nolans’ offer of help.  “Today’s the anniversary of the day they brought me home.  First thing in my life that felt worthy of celebration, other than Henry.”

 

They returned to the quiet again, the back and forth of the swing and the gathering twilight making it easier to hide her blush.  She could hear the boys out back again, probably chasing the fireflies with Copper.  

 

“My mum died when I was a lad, seven or so.  Da had taken off not long before that.”  His voice now was a little raw, gravely, and when she glanced to the side, she thought she saw the brief glint of tears there.  “Anyway, my brother Liam and I were sent to our great Aunt here in the states.  Grew up in Maryland, went into the Navy.  Nan passed not long after.”

 

She remembered that first dinner, how he said he didn’t have any close family.  It didn’t take a genius, considering his hand, to figure out his brother was also gone.  “A lost boy.”  It came out like a whisper, and he stilled their movements for a moment, looking at her in the gloaming.

 

“Aye.  Lost ones can always recognize each other, eh Swan?” There was a tinge of sadness to it, but not defeat.  “Thank you for sharing this evening with me.  I enjoyed being here to help you celebrate.”

 

Emma nodded.  “Thank you for coming.  I hope you’ll join us again in the future.  You’d be welcome.”  She paused, turning and impetuously darting a gentle kiss to his cheek.  “And don’t be a stranger at the shop, okay?  No more avoidance.”

 

He looked startled by that, by the kiss, and the request.  “Aye, Swan.  You have my word.”

 

Emma stood, drawing him up too and walking him toward his truck.  “Good.” 

 

******* 

The next few weeks passed in a pleasant blur.  Killian adjusted his schedule again so that his deliveries to Once Upon a Thyme coincided with Emma’s days at the shop.  He was an expected weekly guest for Friday dinners, and found he enjoyed having that standing appointment to look forward to.  Orders had picked up and the business was doing incredibly well.  He’d actually ended up hiring on an additional hand a few days a week, a highschool boy named Bennet who helped him with weeding and vegetable harvesting.

He also had regular appointments twice a week with Tink.  He’d done his homework, making a point to engage Ruby in conversation at the diner about a clothing design project she was working on one day.  On another, he’d stopped to chat with Belle, the town librarian, who was simply lovely and who had sent him home with a few Horatio Hornblower novels to occupy his few dark hours before sleep at night.  And he’d made a friend of Robin Locksley, the local forestry service warden who was  assigned to the state lands bordering town. Also a transplant from the UK, the two of them had gotten into a friendly debate about the merits of their favorite footy teams.

“I’m very proud of you, Killian.”  Tink sat back in her seat, smiling at him.  “I appreciate the hard work you’re doing.”  Today had been a particularly rough session.  He’d finally broken down and talked about his last few minutes with Liam.  How they had been having such an ordinary day.  How he was actually a little put out with his brother, who had grabbed a book from his bunk, not realized Killian had been reading it already, and had lost his page mark.  The last words he’d said to his brother had been angry, calling him a wanker and admonishing him about respecting his space.

“Really, little brother, I swear…” And then the explosion had come, and heat and screaming metal and screaming men and the feeling of plunging down until he’d slammed into something and been knocked unconscious.  And he’d never seen his brother again. He’d teared up, telling Tink about it, and they’d talked over his relationship as a whole with Liam.  She had stressed to him how much his brother clearly must have loved him, and how comfortable they’d been together to be so close and serve together.

Tink made some notes for his file, asking him to try some additional writing exercises in his journal and to keep expanding his friend group.  “Overall, though, I feel like you’ve made good progress.”  She looked down at her records.  “You’ve been showing a decrease in symptoms since we began, and your overall demeanor in our sessions has been more positive.”

“I think it’s definitely helping.”  He glanced at the clock.  “Are we out of time?”

“Just about, but I’ve got a gap after you, and I have a surprise that should be here any minute.” Tink laughed at the knock on her door.  “Or, now.  Come in!”

The door opened, and a bright young woman with red hair walked in, leading a golden retriever on a leash.  The dog looked still fairly young, but seemed well behaved, sitting at a hand signal from it’s handler.  It wore a blue vest with the word “Therapy Dog” in gold embroidery.  “Hi Tink! Sorry we’re late, I had to stop and check on a placement on the way.”

“No problem, we were just finishing.” Tink stood, giving the woman a hug and then scratching the dog’s ears. “Killian, this is Anna Arendelle.  She works with Just Paws Therapy Pets.  I called her to get you on the waiting list, but they had someone drop at the last moment.  This sweet girl is available, if you still think you’d like to take her on.”

He rose and came over, shaking Anna’s hand, then kneeling down.  “Hi, girl.”  The dog seemed to grin at him, holding out a paw for him to shake.  He chuckled.  “What’s her name?”

“We’ve been calling her Jolly, because her litter was born around Christmas, but we train the dogs to accept name changes if they need to.” Anna spoke quickly.  “She’s had all her shots, and her training.  If you want, I can come and do some handler training with you, or you can come to classes.  And there’s information about the differences between a therapy dog and a service dog, and we’d want to make sure you connect with a good vet…”

“Anna.” Tink laughed.  “Breathe.”

“Sorry, I just get really excited.” She smiled widely at him.  “My sister has sensory processing disorder, and she was practically a recluse until she got her service dog, Olaf.  He changed her life, and well, my life. The guy who trained him, Kristoff, let me start volunteering, and one thing led to another...Anyways, we run the program together now.”

Jolly looked up at Anna with an expression that seemed oddly fond and human.  He let the dog sniff his hand again, and then scratched her behind the ears.  “She seems incredibly sweet.  I’d like to give it a try, if you think we’d be a good match.”

“I think you’ll be great together.” She nodded to the door.  “If Tink’s done with you, we can walk over to the park and I can walk you through the basics.”

And an hour later, he signed the papers to officially be assigned Jolly, paying the fees to the program for her training and placement.  Anna had a starter set for her for him with a dog bed, bowls, food, some toys, a list of recommended vets, and a harness for the seatbelt so she could ride in the truck with him. “You’ve got our number.  Call if you have any questions or need anything.”

“Thanks, lass.  I will.”  Killian watched as she said goodbye to Jolly, then headed back to her jeep with the Just Paws logo on the side.  He turned to his new companion.  “Well, lass.  It’s you and me.  Shall we go home?”

Jolly barked at him happily, and hoped into the truck when he opened her door.  Buckling her in, he went around to the driver’s side, and got in. Already, he felt a calmness at her presence.  

Jolly earned her keep on her second night at the farm.  Killian had been working on something in the barn earlier in the day, and would have sworn he’d latched the door.  However, as he fixed dinner, a strong storm blew up with heavy winds.  He had just shut off the stove and turned to find a cup to measure out Jolly’s food when the heavy door flew open with a loud, resounding bang.

The next thing he knew, he was on the floor, and something warm and wet was on his face.  He opened his eyes to realize that Jolly had come to him instantly, inserting herself into his cowering form and licking his face gently.  The feeling of it had disrupted the flashback he’d slipped into and had drawn him out of it faster.  “Oh, good girl, lass.  Who’s a good Jolly girl?”

The next day, he had a scheduled delivery at Once Upon a Thyme.  Jolly had been good at riding along, and waiting in the truck if he was at a restaurant, or coming in with him where she was welcome.  He’d called and spoken to Mary Margaret the day before about their dog policy, so when he arrived, he let her out and grabbed the first crate from the truck.  Pushing in the door, he heard the familiar tinkling of the bells, and the soft sound of music coming from the back of the shop.  “Afternoon, Swan!”

“Killian!” A moment later, Henry and Leo came running from the back room, followed by Emma who was wiping her hands on a paper towel.  “We were making Oobleck!”

“Doggie!” Leo started to run forward, but Henry grabbed him.

“No, Leo, see his vest?  He’s working.  We aren’t supposed to touch him.”  His voice was very serious, and Killian couldn’t help but smile as he glanced up at Emma.  She was looking at him curiously, but warmly.  He gave her a nod and set the first crate down, then knelt down.

“This is Jolly, and she’s a girl.”  He pointed to her vest.  “Henry is generally right, if you see a dog in a vest, you shouldn’t touch it.  But Jolly is a therapy dog, which is a little different.  It’s okay to touch her if you see us out and about.  Jolly, can you shake?”

She promptly held her hand out, making Leo giggle and shake her paw.  She also shook for Henry, then promptly sat back down.  Killian reached into his pocket and pulled out a treat, giving it to her.  “Good lass.”

“Boys, can you go out back and help David for a bit?  I need to help Killian unload our order.” Emma gave them a fond smile as they ran back through the back of the shop and out the door.  “Man, I would kill to have that kind of energy.”

“Wouldn’t we all?” He pointed to the space in the corner.  “Jolly, go lay down.”

He watched as she made for the space, turned in a circle, and then sprawled in a way that seemed to be characteristic of the breed.  Or at least what he could tell from videos on Youtube.

Emma grabbed the first crate and headed for the cooler while he went to grab the next.  They worked in tandem, hauling things into the shop and putting it away.  Soon enough, everything was inside, checked in, and where it needed to go.  “I have to say, Emma, we make quite the team.”

She chuckled, ducking in the back and coming up with three bottles of water and a bowl.  She handed one to him, left the second on the counter, and then emptied the third into the bowl for Jolly, pausing to scratch behind her ears.  The dog made a soft, happy whine, and he couldn’t help but think what a lucky girl she was.

“So, therapy dog?” Emma came up and leaned against the counter next to him, uncapping the bottle and taking a long drink.  She didn’t press him, and he appreciated that.  It reminded him of the quiet night on the Nolan’s porch when they’d shared a little of their pasts with each other.

“I think I mentioned I was in the Navy.”  He took a long pull on his own bottle, surprised by how fast the lump in his throat came up.  Her hand found his and held it softly, being careful of his scars.  It made it easier to speak, and harder all at the same time.  “My brother and I were on a ship that was the victim of a terrorist attack in a port in the Middle East.”

Emma drew a sharp breath.  “I remember that being on the news.”  She set her bottle down, angling to give him all her attention.  “I’m so sorry.”

He nodded, looking down at their hands.  “Liam...I pray it was instantaneous.  They never…” He tucked his tongue into his cheek, biting down just a little to get control back.  Emma stayed quiet beside him, but her thumb rubbed soft circles on his knuckles.  “Anyway, it left me with a bum hand, and a pretty intense case of PTSD.  After that day at the diner, I made the move to get back into regular therapy.  My new therapist thought a therapy dog would help.”

“I’m so sorry, about your brother.” Emma leaned into him a little, and he found comfort in it.  He’d avoided this kind of physical contact for so long, it felt sometimes like he was a drowning man being given a life buoy.  “So, Jolly?  How’d she get her name?”

“The young lady who trained her said she was a part of a Christmas litter. But I think my thought suits her better. Jolly.” The dog was instantly up and at his side, sitting.  Emma looked down and he could tell when she spotted it.  On the red leather collar he’d gotten her, a shiny brass plaque read ‘Jolly Roger Jones’ and his number.  “She’s got quite good form, but I’ve found she’s a bit of a pirate when it comes to food left in her reach.”

Emma was laughing, bending down to ruffle Jolly’s fur.  “Just be careful of alums.  They’re bad for dogs.”  She looked up at him. “Copper had a near miss as a puppy when he stole a sandwich on an onion bun.”

“Duly noted, Swan.”  He drank his own water down, noting that Jolly had finished hers as well.  “We’d best get out of your hair.  But before I go, pray tell, what in the world is Oobleck?”

She snorted, and he found he loved that as much as her laugh.  It was unguarded and honest.  She wrote his check for him, signing it with a flourish.  “Come to dinner Friday, and the boys will tell you all about it.  But Jones?”

“Aye, lass?” He collected Jolly’s bowl, handing it back to her.

“Wear an old shirt.”  And with a slightly feral grin, she wished him a good day.

********* 

Summer slowly bled away in long, hazy hot days spent at the shop, or watching the boys. Mary Margaret was having a time of it with morning sickness, though not to a dangerous degree. As such, Emma was pitching in more around the shop, and making sure Leo made it to day camp on time.

Summer was a busy season for them, packed with weddings, and Emma found herself feeling brighter about it than she ever had before. While she had a living, breathing example of true love in front of her every day in the persons of David and Mary Margaret Nolan, after Neal, she’d found herself believing they were a fluke. An exception that proved the rule, as it were. Particularly when she ended up doing flowers for someone’s second or third wedding (or sometimes their second, and then their third wedding). She couldn’t imagine what drove people to throw themselves into the fire over and over again, hoping for a different result.

So, instead of just having the general sense that at least people’s illogical behavior was good business for her, she found herself singing along to love songs on the shop radio and tearing up a bit when new brides stopped back by after their weddings to drop off pictures of the big day for Emma and Mary Margaret’s look book. She tried to tell herself that she was just excited about the new baby joining their family. Or how excited Henry had been about summer, and what a great kid he was growing into. But even as she did, she knew she wasn’t being completely honest.

Part of her happiness came from a certain dark haired, blue eyed flower farmer. It came from how he was slowly opening up around her; how he smiled more, how he dropped the occasional outrageous innuendo when it was just the two of them. It came from how he just fit into Friday night dinners. How he and David seemed to be forming a quiet bromance, and how it led to Killian inviting him out for guys night with his friend Robin. How he had shown up that night a few weeks ago in an old shirt and had played with Oobleck with the boys until she and Mary Margaret had to chase all three of them inside to wash up.

And Henry...well, Henry had never wanted for a father figure, not really. He’d had David to take him camping and fishing and help him with homework. But he’d taken to Killian in a way she’d never expected. And Killian was just...great with him. Kind, patient, happy to answer questions about just about anything. At the end of the night after the great Oobleck party, she’d come back into the yard from helping clean up and found the two of them looking at the stars. Killian was pointing out constellations while Henry listened, wide eyed.

Still, though, they seemed to be in a holding pattern of friendship. Killian had made no move to change that, even with the occasional flirtatious comment, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do. Every relationship, from Neal forward, she’d been the pursued, not the pursuer. But with Killian, she imagined that he’d not say anything if she didn’t, content with the ways things were, rather than trying for more. Maybe he didn’t think more was something he deserved? Or maybe Emma was reading him wrong, and friendship was all he wanted.

Today was a rare day; she was completely alone. The boys had been invited on an overnight camping trip with some friends from day camp, and David and Mary Margaret were taking advantage of that to work on setting up the nursery for the new baby. She hummed along to U2 as she worked on flowers for yet another wedding, though this late in the season, they were starting to die down.

The bell at the front tinkled, so she set aside what she was working on, and stuck her head out to find the very man she’d been thinking of. Killian stood by the counter, Jolly at his feet and a bag in his hand. “Afternoon, lass.”

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting a delivery today. Did I get my days wrong?” Emma wiped her hands on her apron, moving into the main part of the shop.

Killian set the bag down, scratching his ear. “No, Swan. I was at Granny’s, and I suddenly thought you might not have had lunch. I picked up some take out. If you want. Or I can leave yours, if you’re too busy.”

As if on cue, her stomach growled. She had let time get away from her. “Lunch would be amazing. Why don’t you come on through to the back?”

He grabbed the bag and followed her, Jolly on his heels. In the backroom, Emma cleared away what she’d been working on, tucking the flowers back into the freezer and putting her tools on the side cabinet. She gave the table a quick wipe down and then let him set out two styrofoam to go boxes while she grabbed bottles of water from the food fridge. She set Jolly up with a bowl of her own where she had flopped by the door, then grabbed the stool across the table from Killian.

She opened the box and her mouth dropped open. “How did you know?”

He blushed a little, smiling at her softly. “I asked Ruby for your usual. Is it alright?”

Emma looked from him, down to the double grilled cheese sandwich and onion rings that awaited her. It still startled her that he’d gone to the trouble of bringing lunch to her all the way on the edge of town. Looking back up, she gave him the brightest smile. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

They ate slowly, chatting about nothing in particular. Killian talked about the restaurants he was supplying with local sourced produce, and how one wanted him to look at edible flowers for next summer to add to their salads and desserts. Emma talked about the strangest requests they’d had for weddings so far this summer, and how much she was looking forward to the end of the busy season.

Finally, both of them were picking at crumbs. She knew she needed to get back to work on the arrangements while she had a quiet afternoon to do so, but she didn’t want the time together to end. Looking up, she found him watching her, a shy, fond look on his face. And something in her just snapped. “Do you want to go on a date with me?”

Killian blinked at her for a moment. “Beg pardon, Swan?”

Emma felt herself flush now. Maybe she had him wrong. “A date. I’m asking you out. Or not, if you aren’t interested. Never mind.” Standing quickly, she grabbed their empty boxes and turned, dumping them in her large trash. 

A hand caught her arm, pausing her, and she turned to find Killian smiling at her with a naked look of hope. “I wasn’t saying no, Emma. I just...Javier had said to be careful with you, and I…” He did that thing where he scratched behind his ear again, nervous. “Bloody hell, Swan, of course I’ll go out with you.”

“Good.” She smiled, grinning widely at him. “Is tonight too soon?”

“Tonight’s perfect. But let me plan it?” He had a mischievous grin in his eye. “Since you beat me to the punch asking.”

Emma nodded at him, feeling her cheeks flush. “Pick me up at 7PM?” She turned, grabbing a note pad and scribbling the address.

Killian took it from her, tucking it into the pocket of his shirt. “It’s a date. I’ll see you tonight, Emma.”

“Tonight.” He took her hand, and carefully brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles that made her gasp softly.  Then he pulled away, called Jolly to him, and was gone.

******** 

Killian couldn’t quite believe this was real. He’d been slowly working up to it, planning how to ask Emma Swan to go out with him in a way that gave her an out to say no, and still preserved their friendship. In fact, he’d been thinking about it for at least a few weeks. Ever since his session with Tink the week after Henry introduced him to Oobleck and all it’s strange alien wonder.

“Tell me about Emma,” Tink said. “You mention her a lot.”

What could he say about Emma, really? That she was beautiful, certainly. That her hair shimmered in the late summer sun like so much gold.  That her eyes were like sea glass and shone more brightly. That when she smiled, his whole world just stopped to watch. That her laughter seemed to fill in the cracks in his heart. That she made him want to do more than just exist, like he’d done for so long.

Tink had reminded him that while it was wonderful to be able to embrace life again after a trauma, he needed to proceed carefully. “Remember, putting all your hope on one person can be dangerous. It’s not fair to her, or you. So take it slow and make a point of finding the joy in life outside of Emma.”

And he had. He found it in his customers and how they reacted to his flowers and vegetables. He found it in early mornings when the sun was burning the fog off the fields around the farm. He found it in drinks out with Robin and now, sometimes, David. He found it in walking Jolly along the beach during downtime and playing fetch with a piece of driftwood. He found it in Friday night dinners, which were partially about Emma, it was true. But also about the kindness of the Nolans, and watching Jolly and Copper play together, and spending time with Henry and Leo.

And now, Emma had beaten him to the punch. He had pinched himself more than once after leaving Once Upon a Thyme, hardly able to believe that it had happened. Then he focused on planning their date. A call to Chef Louis at Triton’s Table had secured a table for two at 7:30 on the patio. Killian took the liberty of ordering a bottle of wine in advance so it would be waiting for them when they arrived.

He’d hurried to do his last few deliveries, then returned to the farm. Part of him was hesitant to leave Jolly home for the night, but he’d be with Emma. She knew about his flashbacks, and he trusted that if he had one, she’d be able to help. He changed out of his work clothes, pulling on a pair of dark skinny jeans and a dark grey shirt with a subtle paisley pattern. Over it, he added a charcoal colored waist coat. He finished the look with his leather jacket even though it was quite warm out, just in case the temperature dropped.

Making sure Jolly had food and water, and that the new doggie door he’d installed was working, he ducked out to his greenhouse where his roses were and chose one lovely, deep red bloom. It seemed silly, perhaps, to give flowers to a florist, but she’d reacted so beautifully to the orchid he’d brought to her party. Perhaps it mattered more, knowing he’d grown them rather than buying them in some store.

Soon, he was in his truck, using the GPS on his phone to make his way into town. The building it led him to had clearly been industrial at one point, and repurposed into loft apartments.  He made his way up the stairs and stopped in front of a wooden door. He’d gotten used to the tingling in his bad hand by now, after years of phantom aches and unexplained pains. At the moment, both hands tingled and he worried he might be sweating just a little. “Bloody hell, Jones. Get it together.”

He raised his hand to knock when the door opened. Before him, Emma stood wearing a loden green dress with gold tone heels. On her wrist she wore a bracelet of gold wire and green jade. Her hair fell in soft curls around her face and down her back, and her eyes stared at him, twinkling out of smokey eye makeup. “Swan, you look…”

“Thank you. Is that for me?” Her words caused him to pause. She nodded at his good hand, and he remembered the rose. 

“Aye. I know you see lots every day, but I...well, here.” God, he’d not been this nervous on his first date as a lad. Then again, lovely as Sharee Hampstead had been, she’d not a candle to this lass. Holding it out to her, he gave her his best sheepish smile.

Emma took it, bringing it to her nose and sniffing. “I don’t know how you do it, but there is such a difference in the ones you grow and the commercial stuff we could be ordering.” She waved him into the great room as she walked through to the kitchen space for a vase. “It smells so much more, and it’s petals are so soft.”

“That one’s a Fragrant Cloud, love.” He felt his confidence returning as he watched her pull out a little black bud vase and then a pair of snips, expertly trimming the end of the stem. Settling it into the water, she put it in a place of pride on her dining table. “It’s bred to have a strong scent. It’s one of my favorites for it.”

“Thank you.” She turned and smiled at him. “Do you know, you’re the first man to give me flowers?”

He felt his mouth drop at that. “Truly?” What sort of wankers had she dated before?

Emma grabbed her clutch and offered him her hand, waiting until he took it and led her out the door. Once she’d locked it, he let her set the pace on the stairs. “Henry’s father...well, we were in a bad place, struggling to eat. And after that...well, I think most people assume the last thing I’d want is flowers. Never seemed to occur to them I might be a florist for a reason.”

“You should come out to the farm someday, Swan.” They’d reached the truck, and he’d pulled open the passenger door for her, helping her climb in. “I’d love to show you all of it.”

“Asking me on a second date already?” Her words were light and a little teasing, but God, he wanted it. As many dates as he could have.

“Confident this one will go well, love.” With that, he turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of his parking spot. They had a reservation to get to.

******** 

Emma had always assumed that she wasn’t that big on romance. At least in the traditional, Hollywood sense. At the time, her experiences with Neal had felt like a grand romance, a sort of non-deadly Bonnie and Clyde. Obviously, the romance there had died the day her cell in juvie shut behind her.

Then there was Graham. While he was a good man, Graham was laid back. His idea of a great date was grabbing lunch with her at Granny’s, or meeting for a drink at the Rabbit Hole. Once, they’d gone to dinner somewhere a bit nicer (a Thai restaurant that seemed to pop-up and fold in a matter of months). Unfortunately, right as their food had come out, his phone had gone off with a police emergency, and he’d left her, paying for dinner and taking his to go box with him. Not wanting to admit her disappointment to Mary Margaret and David (who were keeping Henry for her), she’d pulled out the paperback she’d been keeping in her purse.

And Walsh. Oh, Walsh liked lavish places all right. Fine wines. Expensive entrees from menus that weren’t written in English. But it had been less about making her feel valued and more about making an impression. Look how much it is. How successful I am. At the lovely woman I have with me. Walsh had spent one whole meal having a long discussion with the sommelier, and not a word to her.

Perhaps that was why she’d had the best time tonight with Killian. They’d arrived at Triton’s Table and were immediately shown to a seat on the patio, overlooking the ocean. Soft music played in the background and a bottle of wine stood chilled and ready in an ice bucket. Killian had held her hand until they reached the table, only letting go long enough to pull out her chair. Once they were seated, he took it again, his thumb running lazy circles over the back.

Chef Louis himself had come out and asked if she had any allergies or dislikes, then offered to do a tasting menu, just for them. She’d readily agreed, and they’d spent the next two hours enjoying brown butter seared scallops, lobster pasta, swordfish grilled on cedar planks with fresh vegetables, and for dessert, hand crafted creme brulee with a blueberry compote. More than once, Killian had leaned over to feed her a bite, and had kept her wine glass full. Everything was utterly amazing.

It was still light out when they finished dinner, so far into the summer. She wasn’t ready to say goodnight yet, so she’d readily agreed to his suggestion of a walk on the beach. Slipping off her gold heels, she carried them in one hand and held his with the other. He told her stories of happier times in his naval service, talking a bit about his brother. She learned that Liam had been more suave and self-assured then Killian when they were younger. That he was notorious for stealing a book Killian was in the middle of reading. That he’d briefly thought about trying for a soccer scholarship before deciding on the Navy.

In turn, Emma found herself sharing little parts of her own past. She told him about one of her foster brothers who used to play with her on rainy days when she was scared, endless games of go-fish with a battered old deck of cards. About the only time she went to a school dance, in the seventh grade, and how a nice boy named Evan had asked her to dance with him. She told him about Henry’s first word- nana- and his fondness for the fruit. About how his fourth grade science project volcano had a little too much red dye in the fizz and ended up staining his hands for a month. And quietly, about how she’d burst into happy tears the day she’d walked out of her sentence and got to really hold Henry for the first time.

They’d stopped walking some time ago, sitting side by side on a large driftwood log looking out at the sea. Night had come on in full, and she was struck, as she always was, with the starry sky over the ocean. She leaned into Killian, her head resting on his shoulder as she finished that particular story.

“Thank you, Swan, for trusting me with that.” His voice just a little gravely, it warmed her in a way she couldn’t remember feeling before. Whatever hell he’d gone through, whatever demons he’d faced, Killian Jones was a good man, and she was fortunate to have the chance to know him.

“Thank you for making it easy.” She turned and looked him in the eye. “It hasn’t always been. I really thought, after my last boyfriend, that I’d just learn to be happy being Henry’s mom. I never expected this.”

His hand had come up, resting tentatively on her cheek, and so she leaned into it, and forward toward him. He took her cue and met her halfway, lips warm and scruff tickling her as they brushed against each other gently. It was almost chaste, and she knew if she pulled away now, he’d respect her enough to let it go at that. But it wasn’t what she wanted.

Her own hand came up to the back of his head, fingers finally, finally delving into the mess of dark hair there. It was as soft and thick as she imagined, and when she tugged just a little, he gasped against her mouth. Emma increased the pressure of the kiss and traced her tongue a little insistently against the seam of his lips, prompting a soft moan from the man.

In a moment, he was holding her tighter, plundering her own mouth with his tongue as his good hand cupped her neck and the weak one pressed into her back. They continued to kiss passionately for a while, trading control and pausing only to breathe. Finally, Killian pulled back. “As wonderful as that was, love, I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

“And I don’t pillage and plunder on the first date,” she replied, smiling softly at him. “But about that tour of the farm…”

His face lit up with a gorgeous, wide smile. “You are welcome whenever you’d like, Swan.”

“Let me talk to Mary Margaret about maybe having Henry over for a sleepover next weekend.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “Tonight has been amazing, Killian. Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Emma.” He brought her hand to his lips. “Truly.”

********** 

Killian found himself humming a few days after their date. It was early, barely past dawn, but the weather had turned hot and humid and he found it easier to get the harder farm labour done before the day got too warm. Over in one corner of the greenhouse, Jolly had circled a few times and then plopped down on the cool dirt, going back to sleep.

He couldn’t help remembering his evening with the lovely Ms. Swan. They’d laughed, and talked. The food had been wonderful (and to his surprise, on the house- Louis did appreciate his fine vegetables and the rave reviews they got). After, they’d walked along the beach and then stared at the stars. And kissing Emma. God, he could have died and been happy to have shared those kisses with her. Soft and chaste, hard and passionate. And again at her door as he said good night, with her hands in his hair and her teeth nipping his bottom lip. The tip of his tongue came out at the moment, running over where her’s had been.

At times like these, he had to remind himself of Tink’s advice. Emma couldn’t be everything for him. It wasn’t fair to her to put that kind of expectation on her, even at this fledgling point in their relationship. And it wasn’t fair to himself to set things up for failure. Mostly, he thought he’d struck a good balance. He had the calm of growing things. He had the pleasure of his business doing well. He had the joy of the other friendships he’d made and the happiness having Jolly in his life gave him.

So yes, Emma was a part of how well things seemed to go here in Storybrooke. But only one lovely, wonderful, kind part. Smiling, he refocused on the task at hand.   
  
On Wednesday, he showed up again at the shop with lunch for both Emma and Mary Margaret, the three of them eating around the work table in the back again. Both women were telling him about ideas they had seen in some of the trade publications, and how that might change types of flowers and greenery they needed. He gladly took notes, happy to see if they were things he could grow to accommodate them. He knew how much the women prided themselves on having locally grown options.

On Thursday, Emma met him for lunch at the pier, sharing cones of fried seafood and chips from one of the vendors catering to the summer tourist crowd while Jolly napped under the bench. They watched the ships in the little harbor, a mix of fishing vessels and small pleasure boats bobbing in the waves. And they kept talking. Emma told him stories of Henry’s infant and toddler years. He told her about Dr. Hopper taking him to meet Anton, and how it felt when he worked in a greenhouse for the first time. On their way back to their cars, they stopped for ice cream at Any Given Sundae. Rum Raisin for him, Rocky Road for her, and plain vanilla for Jolly.

Friday he saw her briefly when he dropped off the shop’s order, but she was deep in finishing a wedding order, so they didn’t have time to talk. And then Saturday. Oh, Saturday.

Mary Margaret and David agreed to keep Henry Saturday overnight until Sunday, so after Emma delivered the wedding flowers bright and early that morning, she had driven out to the farm. Jolly’s barking alerted him from where he’d become engrossed in a particularly recalcitrant orchid stem. Wiping his hands on an old bandana in his back pocket, he stepped out to find her little yellow bug in the gravel of his drive. “Welcome, Swan.”

She looked beautiful in her boots and skinny jeans, an old Ramones shirt and a black scarf tying her hair up in a high ponytail. The sun made her hair sparkle in the light. “Hey Killian.” She seemed almost a little shy and it made him smile. He had no expectations for them today beyond spending time in her company. “Thanks for having me out.”

He walked to her and moved slowly, pulling her into a hug. Emma seemed to relax into him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. When they moved apart, he took her hand. “Let me give you the grand tour, love.”

For the next two hours, they walked through the greenhouses and the fields, Emma asking questions and Killian describing in detail the soil science that went into his planting choices, the ways he dealt with pests and the kind of fertilizers he used. He would worry with anyone else that he was boring then, but his Swan seemed fascinated. They finished the tour in the orchid house, and he led her to the one he’d been working on.

Emma stood in front of him, bracketed by his arms as he guided her through the process, bringing the stem to the green stick and tying it with fine silk cord so the flower draped artfully. Her back was warm against his chest and he could smell the vanilla of shampoo, and something hot and fierce simmered in his blood. Taking a chance as she finished the last tie, he leaned down and brushed a kiss to a spot just below her ear.

Emma’s gasp was soft and surprised, but she didn’t pull away. Instead she leaned back and tilted her head to give him better access. Taking his time, he traced the column of her neck in soft kisses and gentle nips at the skin, soothing them with his tongue. The sounds she made went straight through him, burning him from the inside out. Finally Emma pulled away and turned in his arms, and he hoped he hadn’t been to forward. “Swan…”

“So, does the tour include the house?” She smiled at him, her eyes dark and her breathing fast.

“Aye, love.” He reached up and scratched behind his ear.

“Then perhaps we could start with your bedroom.” She reached for his hand and pulled him to the door. He laughed as Jolly let out a huff and followed.

******* 

She was surprised at her own boldness. But if she was truly honest with herself, they’d been building to this point from the moment that Javier had first brought him into the shop. And God, it had been worth the wait. It had been a while for both of them, but Killian took it slow, and was a giving and thorough lover. After, she’d sat in his kitchen in one of his plaid shirts and not much else as he made them both a late lunch of soup and sandwiches. Then they’d disappeared back into the bedroom for another round.

She’d left on Sunday morning after omelets and lazy kisses. Killian sent her with some fresh vegetables for her and for Mary Margaret and David, as well as a bouquet of buttercups.  When she’d reached the Nolans, Mary Margaret’s eyes had lit up knowingly, and while that might have annoyed her in the past, this time she could only smile. By the time she’d loaded Henry in the car, she’d worked out another sleepover for later in the week.

The next few weeks passed like that, with dates and stolen moments, and to her surprise, some outings with Henry as well. Killian had seemed confused by her surprise when he’d suggested renting a sailboat from the marina and taking both of them out on a Sunday afternoon. “Your lad is a wonderful boy, Swan, and I enjoy spending time with him.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple as they lay tangled together. “After all, I know any future I could have with you would include him. I wouldn’t wish it any other way.”

Emma had paused, waiting for the normal urge to run she’d always had whenever a man mentioned futures or commitments. Instead, there had only been warmth and a sense of perfect well being. “We’d like that very much.”

And they had. She’d wondered if Killian would be okay sailing, given what had happened to him in the Navy. But he’d approached the boat with no hesitation, Jolly on her lead and a picnic basket in his other hand. Henry carried a small cooler, and Emma had her oversized tote with sunscreen and towels and anything else she thought they might need. 

Killian showed Henry how to help him, and soon they had motored away from the docks, moving into the harbor and cutting the engine. Together, her boys moved the sails up and then steered her, cutting through the waves. Their laughter washed over her like the salt spray, and she couldn’t help joining them. They moved across the water for a few hours until they weighed anchor and settled in for lunch. Killian pulled out some fishing tackle, and he and Henry tried their luck while Emma stretched out with Jolly near the bow, reading a book.

When the sun started to set, they put things away and Killian prepped them for the journey back to land. After they arrived and packed out, and Killian had returned everything to the rental shop, Henry led them through town to Granny’s for dinner. She watched them duel each other with french fries and laugh over blueberry pie. It had been a perfect day, and Emma truly never wanted it to end. 

Unfortunately, perfection could never last.

Henry was off on another camping trip, and Emma had invited Killian to her house for dinner. She’d made a lasagna from the recipe Granny had given her, tossing a salad to go with it and opening a bottle of wine. After they’d eaten, they curled up on the couch and watched an old Cary Grant film on the local PBS station. And then they’d adjourned to her bedroom for what Killian called more pleasurable activities. After, they’d drifted off, holding each other.

Emma woke up choking in the dark, something wrapped around her throat. She started to flail her legs and claw at it, realizing it was Killian’s hands. By moonlight, she could see him, eyes wide and unseeing as he held her down. Oh God, she thought. She was going to die. Her vision started going black with floating spots when the bed jerked and Jolly began barking and licking.

Suddenly the pressure was gone, and Emma slid from the bed to the floor, gasping. Her throat ached fiercely and her heart thundered in her chest, but more than that, she was terrified for him. “Killian?” Her voice was hoarse and she coughed.

“Emma?” He looked around the room wildly, finding her on the floor. “Swan, what happened?”

“I think you had a...a nightmare?” Unconsciously, she rubbed her neck as he reached over, flipping on the lamp. His confusion shifted to horror as he saw the livid red handprints.

“Oh, God, Emma. I...Swan, I am so sorry.” He moved to kneel down, his finger stopping just short of her. “I...I didn’t mean…”

She tried to reach for him, to take his hand, but he flinched away. “Killian, it’s all right. I’m okay.”

“Okay?!” He stood, looking around and grabbing his clothes from the floor. “You aren’t okay, Swan! I nearly throttled you.”

“You didn’t know.” She stood, trying to move toward him, but he just jerked away again, pulling on his boxers and pants, and then his shirt, leaving it unbuttoned. “Killian, please, don’t go.”

“I put you in danger, Emma!” He ran a hand violently through his hair. “I could have killed… No, this isn’t going to work. I...I can’t.”

Emma felt ice flood her veins. He couldn’t mean…. “Killian.”

“I’m sorry, Swan. But I refuse to put your or Henry in danger.” Whistling Jolly to his side, he found her leash and hooked it on. “I’m sorry.”

And then he was gone, front door shutting behind him. Emma sat heavily on the bed, tears burning her eyes. Once again, it appeared she wasn’t enough.

******* 

Killian sat on the floor of his room, empty fifth of rum at his hip and Jolly’s head on his leg. God, he’d been such a fool to think he could be normal. That he could have something so fine as Emma Swan. And if Jolly hadn’t woken him…

As if the dog sensed his thoughts, she whined and stood, nudging his face. He brought his arms up and wrapped them around her, burying his tear stained face in her soft fur. Before long, she nudged him up until he got into bed, then climbed in with him. Sleep. Yes, he needed to sleep. He’d face the fallout tomorrow.

Killian sent an email to Emma first thing in the morning, stating that he would understand if Once Upon a Thyme cancelled their deal with him. Instead, Mary Margaret responded, telling him they planned to keep it, but he could switch his delivery days around if he needed to. She included a schedule of who was working which days for his convenience, and somehow, that made him feel even worse.

He didn’t see Emma again until midway through the week, leaving Granny’s.  She wore a scarf wrapped around her neck, but he knew the marks there must be a horrible mottle of bruises at the moment. She met his eyes and gave him a sad smile, and all he could do was nod and step aside to let her pass, dropping his own gaze to Jolly, who whined like she wished to see her friend.

The next day was his weekly session with Tink. As soon as he walked in, the therapist looked up and her jaw dropped. “You look like shit. What happened?”

“Is that your professional opinion?” He kept his tone even and hard. “Lovely to see you too, doctor.”

“Seriously, Killian. You look worse than you did when we started.” She stood and spoke to her receptionist, then pulled the door closed. “I’ve cleared the afternoon. Tell me what happened.”

So he did, telling her about how things had been so wonderful. How Emma had been so very, very wonderful. Perfect and lovely, opening up to him and touching parts of him he’d been sure were dead. How he’d started to think about improving the farmhouse, turning one of his spare rooms into a place for Henry, making everything bright and welcoming. How he wondered if Emma would want a diamond or something else. Whether she’d want a beach wedding, or perhaps an arbor at the farm. Whether there would be wee ones in the future.

He told her of the shock of Jolly waking him in Emma’s bed to find her out of it, on the floor. How vivid the fingermarks stood against her sweet, pale skin. How suffused with horror and self-loathing he’d been when he realized he’d put them there. How he’d done the only thing he could do, and ended it.

Tink stayed quiet until he was done. Then she asked, “Did Emma say she wanted to end it?”

“I nearly killed her.” His voice was hollow and empty. “I refuse to be a danger to her or Henry.”

“But what does she want?” Tink sat back. “I don’t make light of what happened, Killian. It was a horrible thing, and you have the right to feel that. But Emma was aware of your condition, and she was willing to be with you. There are things we can try, therapy techniques. You could choose to sleep separately until you are more comfortable. But relationships are a partnership. As Emma’s partner, do you think it was fair to make that choice without at least finding out if there were options?”

“I would do whatever it took to keep her safe, even if that means letting her go.” He rubbed his good hand over his face. “I won’t be responsible for someone else I love dying.”

“But you haven’t been before.” Tink sat forward. “Your mother was killed by a drunk driver. You’re great aunt died of natural causes. And Liam was a victim of terrorists, the same as you. You weren’t responsible for any of them. And Emma isn’t dead.”

“But you’ve always said, I’ll never be cured. This could happen again. I could hurt her, or her boy.” Killian shook his head.

“Or we change techniques and try new things, and we keep doing the work. And it might never happen again.” Tink reached out and took his hand. “Look, Killian, you’ve made amazing progress since we started. Truly amazing progress. But setbacks happen, and the last thing that helps is to pull away from your support system. Just think about it, okay? Now, tell me what you remember about the dream.”

Saturday, he sat staring blankly at an orchid, unmotivated to tie it to the support. It had been a lonely week, seeing only his customers and not really staying to talk. He kept hearing Emma’s voice, asking him to wait, not to go. And Tink’s, telling him he should have at least given Swan a say before ending things. Now, it was like he’d just come to town, friendless and alone. Sighing, he rubbed a hand through his hair.

“Killian?” Jolly hadn’t barked, so he turned sharply to find Henry at the door of the greenhouse.

“Lad, how’d you get here?” He stood, moving toward him. Henry looked at him, fierce determination on his face. 

“I rode my bike. Can we talk?” Killian found himself nodding, and led the boy out and to the back porch. Henry waited while he stepped inside and came back with two glasses of lemonade.

“What’s on your mind?” Killian kept his tone friendly, but fear and loathing twisted in his gut.

“My mom is sad, and said she couldn’t see you anymore.” Henry turned the glass in his hands, drawing a pattern through the condensation on it. “That we couldn’t.”

“That’s... well, it’s not exactly true, lad. I’ll still see you and Emma around town, but your mother and I…” God, this was hard. “I’m not good for her, lad.”

“Is this because of your nightmare?” Henry was nothing if not blunt sometimes. Killian winced. “Mom told me you had a bad dream, and didn’t know where you were, and that you thought she was someone else. That was how her neck got bruised.”

He found himself breathless. Henry didn’t sound like he was blaming him. “Aye, lad. I can’t risk hurting her, or you.”

“But you are.” At this, the boy looked at him, and seemed upset, almost angry. “I’ve never seen my mom as happy as she has been since you came. You make her...better. She smiles more, and she sings to me, and she has fun more. Almost everyone has left Mom until the Nolans came along. And me. And now you’ve left her too. And she’s sad and hurt and she cries. You need to fix it.”

“It’s complicated, Henry.” Killian felt his heart break, imagining Swan wasting tears over him. “I don’t know if I can.”

The boy shook his head. “Then you aren’t the guy I thought you were.”

“I’m sorry.” Killian set his glass aside undrunk. “Let’s put your bike in my truck, and I’ll run you back into town.”

The boy was silent and reproachful the entire ride. When he pulled up at Once Upon a Thyme, where Henry had directed him, David and Mary Margaret stepped out. “Henry!” Mary Margaret moved quickly to him. “You scared me witless. I almost called your mother.”

“Sorry.” Henry let himself be led inside, leaving Killian and David alone. Killian moved to try to maneuver the bike out of the flatbed, and was surprised when the other man stepped in to help.

“We missed you at dinner.” David’s voice was mild as he set the bike down against the wall of the building. “And it’s been hard on them.”

“I’m sorry, mate. Truly. But I...I can’t risk doing something to physically harm them.” Killian felt the cold dread cycling through him again. “If Emma…”

David was silent for a long moment, and Killian turned to leave.  The next words stopped him cold.

“I saw my twin murdered in front of me when I was fifteen.” Killian turned back around, mouth gaping. “James was headstrong and thought he was seven feet tall and invincible. He’d talked me into taking the bus with him down to this show in Portland, some band he was crazy about. He’d gotten us fake IDs. So we’re in this really sketchy bar, and James hits on this girl. I think she went by Jack. Anyway, her boyfriend took exception, and they got in a fight. Before I could do anything, the boyfriend, this big ridiculous biker, broke a beer bottle and stabbed James in the neck. Then he took off. And I just held him until he was gone.”

“Christ, mate, I’m sorry.” Killian looked at the other man, but David shook his head.

“I’m not telling you so you’ll be sorry.” He leaned up against the tailgate, next to Killian. “I started dating Mary Margaret maybe six months later. And you’ve met her.  She made me better. But not long after we started being intimate, she startled me and I had an episode. I punched her in the face.”

Killian looked at him, eyes wide.

“I felt like a monster, even though my therapist assured me I wasn’t. That accidents happen.” He chuckled ruefully. “Anyway, I tried to do what you’re doing now. I tried to end it, for her sake. But she said no.  Mary Margaret told me that True Love, like we had, it was worth fighting for. And she wouldn’t stop fighting for me. And she never has.”

“I...I didn’t know.” Killian shook his head. “She’s...you’re so good together.”

“Life isn’t perfect, Killian. And relationships are hard, even without something like what we’ve faced.” David clapped a hand on his arm. “Emma’s got her own ghosts, and she may not chase you. But I promise, she is worth fighting for. The question is, are you man enough to fight?”

In his head, Killian could hear Liam. A man who wouldn’t fight for what he wanted deserved what he got. And God, he wanted Emma Swan. “Aye, mate. I think I am.”

“She’s gone to Portland on errands. We’re keeping Henry tonight.” Killian nodded as David pushed away from his truck. “And Jones, if you ever hurt her again, I’ll kill you. Clear?”

“Crystal, mate. Crystal.”

******** 

Emma carried bags from the bug to the door of her building and then up the stairs. David and Mary Margaret had insisted she go to Portland and have some time to herself, that they’d get the boys to help set up the last big wedding of the summer. That she needed to get out of her own head. So she’d run errands, buying herself some new underwear and socks, and some new things for Henry. She’d had a quiet lunch at a hole in the wall Thai place, and then gone for a pedicure. After that, she did some household shopping at Target. 

Trudging up the stairs, she almost wished she’d gotten a room there for the night. The apartment was too quiet without Henry or… Damn, she’d been trying so hard not to think of him. Of how she missed his smile, and his voice. The warmth of his embrace and the taste of him on her lips. The smell of salt and bay rum and warm earth. Emma closed her eyes and wished again that she’d never opened up, never let herself fall.

“Swan?” Jesus Christ, now she was hallucinating. She sighed and opened her eyes, then almost tripped. Killian Jones sat on the floor next to her door, back against the wall and Jolly with her head in his lap.

“Killian?” She took the last two steps and set her bags down. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I hoped we could talk.” He stood, scratching behind his ear. “Please?”

Emma nodded silently, unlocking the door and grabbing her bags.  She heard him follow her in, shutting the door. She didn’t say anything at first, setting the bags on the table before grabbing the Target bag and pulling out cleaning products to put away. Killian seemed content to wait, pulling out a chair at her table and sitting. Jolly stretched out on the floor beside him.

Finally, when she couldn’t occupy herself any further, she moved and sat across the table from him. “So. Talk.”

“I’m sorry, Swan. Emma. I...it wasn’t fair of me to just run like that, and not give you a say.” He paused, swallowing a lump in his throat. “When I saw what I had done...I...I hated myself, and I couldn’t imagine that when the heat of the moment passed, you wouldn’t hate me too.”

Emma sighed. “Killian, did you intend to strangle me?”

He shook his head vehemently. “Of course not.”

“Do you intend to ever cause physical harm to me, or to Henry?” She stared at him hard.

“Of course I wouldn’t intend for it to happen.” He looked at his hands. “But it could. I’ll never be cured, Swan. PTSD doesn’t ever really get cured. I can try my best to manage it, but something like this could happen again.”

“Or, it might not.” Emma rubbed at her wrist where he knew the buttercup tattoo lay. “After, I...I did some research, and I talked to David.”

“Aye, he talked to me today. Told me I was being a foolish git. Him and Henry.” Briefly, Killian told her about Henry’s unexpected visit. “And my therapist. They all reminded me that there were other options. I just...God, Emma, if something happened and you or Henry…”

“It’s a risk I’d be willing to take.” Emma stood, walking over and getting some water for them. When she returned, she took a long drink. “Life isn’t guaranteed to be safe, Killian. But I know that you care about Henry and I. A lot. And that you would never willingly harm us. We’re willing to figure out a way to make this work. But if you aren’t all in, then I’ll ask that you get up and walk out the door now. Because I can’t ever do this again. I...I love you, Killian Jones. And if I am just going to lose you, I need it to be a clean break.”

“Oh, Emma.” Shaking, he took her hand. “I love you, too. Both of you, so much, and...if you’re willing to give me another chance, I swear, I’ll never leave you like that again. Ever.”

Emma squeezed his back, feeling better than she had all week. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

******** 

It wasn’t easy. Emma accompanied him to his next therapy session with Tink, and they talked about options. For the first few months, they decided to try sleeping apart while Killian tracked his dreams and panic attacks. They took things slow, dates and sometimes intimate afternoons at the farm while Henry was at camp or in school. But no sleepovers.

After Tink was satisfied that he had leveled back out, she suggested they only try sleeping in the same bed at his house, in familiar surroundings and where Jolly had easier access, just in case. That first night was tentative, both of them nervous. But it went off peacefully, both of them waking rested in the morning, curled up together.

Eventually, Killian asked Emma if she and Henry wanted to move out to the farm, and the three of them built a home together. Henry was the one who thought of Emma having a panic button on her side of the bed, something that would sound in his room to wake him if there was an emergency. Killian felt both ashamed that it might be needed, and awed at how thoughtful the boy was for a ten year old. But he agreed.

They had a small incident where Killian awoke disoriented and fell out of the bed. He spooked slightly, and tried to insist on sleeping in the guest room. But Emma just held him close as he shook, whispering fierce comfort to him.

It got easier with time, he and Emma taking turns dropping Henry at school. Him working in the fields and greenhouses and Emma at Once Upon a Thyme. Friday dinners with the Nolans, Tuesday guys nights, and lazy Sundays as a family.

Not quite a year later, Henry and Killian surprised Emma with another sailing trip, this one an overnight on a larger vessel up the coast. Henry slept on the convertible bunk in the galley, and Killian and Emma in the cabin. In the early morning, they woke before him and stole up deckside to watch the sun rise.

Wrapped in a crocheted afghan, Emma sitting between his legs and leaning against his chest, he pulled the small box from the pocket of his shorts.

“Emma, you are the light in my life, you and the lad. I didn’t realize how much I wasn’t living, until I met you. You’ve fought for me, and for us, and given me a second chance when things were hard.” He paused, fighting the lump in his throat, and the tears in her eyes. “I adore you more than words can say, and I can think of no one else I’d dream of spending my life with. Emma Swan, will you make an honest man of me, and be my wife?” 

He opened the box on the pretty emerald ring that had belonged to his great aunt. It wasn’t huge or flashy, but the stone matched her eyes.

Emma leaned, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth and smearing her tears on his scruff. “Yes. Of course I’ll marry you.”

“Did you do it?” They turned to find Henry’s head stuck up through the hatch.

“Aye, lad, I did.” Henry grinned hugely. “And she said yes.”

“Awesome, dad!” Killian and Emma both sucked in a breath at that. “So, who wants pancakes?”

In time, they were married on the beach, under an arbor of flowers from the farm. Henry stood as his best man, Mary Margaret was the maid of honor, and David gave away the bride. And Jolly was the ring bearer. Henry’s adoption had been finalized the week before, making Killian his father in legal fact as well as in heart.  After their vows were said, and their rings were exchanged and their kiss kissed, the minister, Mother Blue from the local Episcopal church, said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, may I introduce the Swan-Jones family.”

Life after wasn’t perfect. There were struggles and easy days, joys and triumphs. They’d eventually welcome a son, Liam, and a daughter, Leia, to the family. They’d say good-bye to Jolly when old age took her, and welcome another therapy dog, Scamp. Killian had good days and bad ones, but Emma stood by his side and fought for them with him, together. And in the end, they did live pretty happily ever after.


End file.
